Thank You
by Jokerfest
Summary: Arthur thanks the man that saved his life, the first person that realized that he could be more.  Cobb/Arthur Not slash Rated M for language and drug use


**You know I really do love Inception. Trying out different back stories is so much fun. I wonder if Nolan knows how much fun we're all having. Wonder if he totally saw an Eames/Arthur fanbase cropping up. Not that that is what this particular story is about. Anyway, the subject matter in this is a tad heavy (no not a lemon, though you have every right to assume knowing my track record) so be wary. Oh and please leave a review on this one, I really did try hard on this, just because I wanted it to be well...awesome. So leave a comment.**

**~Jokerfest~**

This is where you found me.

Suits cover up the faint lines that mar my wrists. This "suits" me just fine. Humor. Ha.

This is where you found me.

Suits cover up the track marks. Really, I'm not talking about race tracks. Are you still laughing?

This is where you found me.

My body's shaking and my brain is melting, sloshing, oozing through my ears. At least, that's what it feels like. You grab me, check my pulse, you call an ambulance. We're not laughing.

Lights, lots of lights and people, fuck there are so many people. They're looking down on me, shoving things in my arms as if I hadn't done that already. There's a mask over my face and you, there you are looking down on me. It's like a dream, something that I'm not apart of. It's a real head trip. I know something about those.

When we're in the hospital you stay there. I wouldn't have stayed. I was some junkie kid, puking my guts out, shaking from withdrawal. I'm crying and I am such a fucking mess. You held my hand, waved nurses away when I was feeling too pathetic.

no one...no one has seen me like that.

Arty the scam artist, Arty the pot-head, Arty the thief. Arty the heroin addict. Arty the orphan. Arty the sniveling crack-addict/living corpse/motherfucking idiot/cry-baby/sob-story.

You're the only one that saw that last one. I don't even think I told you my name. You came back, a few days later, after the most of my problems had quieted to a dull roar. In other words, when I spoke coherent sentences without completely breaking down and sobbing. I kind of laughed when you brought me flowers. You told me your wife suggested them. I told you that she had good taste. Which she did by the way.

We're in the hospital and we get to talking. I half expect it to be like all the other times shrinks have tried to get to know me.

Not you, ever the original.

You ask me about the thing I fear most. Weird opening question, but okay. Funny thing, I can't answer it.

Death, no.

Loneliness, not even.

Eternal damnation, I think not.

we sit. we think. we dream.

I ask if you're going to leave. You say maybe, swear to God, I fucking panicked when you said that.

Take me with you, I ask. Honestly, you'd done enough but who fucking cares. Junkies are greedy sonsabitches, don't let anyone tell you different.

So when you walk me out of the hospital after pulling lord knows how many strings, I'm in shock. We go to your house, driving in a Bentley, no less. I sleep most of the way but you understand, not asking too many questions. I don't know how long the drive is, I just remember that feeling of gratefulness when you wake me up and I get to remember that you're real. You do exist.

We go to an apartment, kind of fancy, really. Your wife is there, her accent, well hell, I had a little crush even then. Sue me.

She makes us dinner, telling me all sorts of things with her accent, which I loved. She fussed over my state of dress, just as a mother should, she told me about your daughter and the son on the way. She told me how, I needed new clothes and that she wanted to take me shopping. How long had I known her? Two hours? Apparently that was long enough. I went from having noone and nearly nothing (not counting my lucky dice, which really are lucky all things considered) to having a friend and a hot mother figure. Really, she was hot, couldn't help it and so help me if you tell me that it's wrong...

She buys me an outfit. I try it on, nervous that she'll take it back. She looks me over, tugs on the sleeves. She asks me if I like it. Does it matter? It's more than I have now, so yeah, by all means, let's get to the register. I tell her yes. She tells me not to lie. Fine, I look like a fucking school kid.

We leave the store, we're in New York so she lets me eye-rape pretty much every store. Finally, we're there. _. When I saw that suit, you know the one, I needed it. When a junkie says need, they're not just throwing words around. She smiles, she understands. She always understood me, come to think of it.

We go inside. The salesman, of course, eyes me like a thief. I give him the eyebrow. My sticky fingers are in my pockets, thank you very much. Your wife points to the suit in the window, we're getting it tailored to fit. The feeling that washes over me as he tightens, hems, and adjusts _my_ suit, literally make me cry. I cry because I can't see them anymore. No scars, no mistakes, I'm completely human, normal, and safe. I'm safe in this suit and no one can see underneath. She buys me eight pairs and totally disregards my tears. Your wife was a gracious woman. She was gracious, understanding and kind.

I leave the shop and I know exactly who I am.

My name is Arthur.

She wasn't your first inception my friend, that was me. What happened was not your fault and she would have said that too. Things are different now, the world we live in, the people we know. We dream bigger, live larger, and have more to look forward to. You've got kids, great friends, a rewarding (albeit dangerous job) and the ever supportive partner (who is getting married in a few days), so just focus on that.

Dom, I can never say thank you enough. Hell, I'd have to live a thousand lifetimes for that. However, there is one thing that I can do. I can answer your question.

My biggest fear?

Losing control. Losing control means going back to Arty. I can't do that. You, however, need to loosen up because you don't need to worry. You yield control, I take up the slack. We're

partners and the irrational fear I have is my last showing battle scar.

So, I'm wrapping this up, with a hearty thank you. Thanks for saving my life, giving me a leg up and having a hot wife. Just kidding. Thank you for putting forth the idea that saved my life. Thank you for taking me in when I had no one else. Thanks for dreaming with me 24/7, for making it all real in the end.

Signed,

Arthur

P.S. Ariadne wants to borrow the PASIV for the honeymoon.


End file.
